


Decagon

by AngelQueen



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Fluff, Friendship, Gen Fic, Genderbending, Het, Multi, Romance, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten moments in time. Some truth, some something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decagon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following meme:
> 
> _1\. Write down the names of 10 characters.  
>  2\. Write a fic of fifteen words or less for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1._
> 
> Except this is far more than fifteen words per prompt, because, yeah, I'm wordy.
> 
> 1\. Amanda Grayson  
> 2\. James T. Kirk  
> 3\. Winona Kirk  
> 4\. Christopher Pike  
> 5\. T’Pring  
> 6\. Leonard McCoy  
> 7\. Gaila  
> 8\. Spock  
> 9\. Uhura  
> 10\. Sarek

**1\. First Meeting, 1 & 4 (Amanda Grayson & Christopher Pike)**

It might be shallow of him, but the first thing Chris notices is how beautiful she is. Thick dark hair, equally dark eyes, and a lovely smile. Just from looking at her, he can see why even a Vulcan might be enthralled by her (even though he knows that no Vulcan would have chosen a wife on such superficial grounds).

“Captain Pike,” she says, and her voice is soft, almost ethereal, which is a direct contrast to the firmness of her handshake. “Amanda Grayson.”

In terms of Vulcan etiquette, Chris knows he should bow to her (since she’s the wife of a high-ranking Vulcan official and all), but they’re on Earth, in his office at Starfleet Headquarters, and there’s no sign of any Vulcan, not her husband, not her son, not anyone.

So he follows her lead, returning the handshake with equal vigor. “It’s a pleasure, Dr. Grayson.”

* * *

**2\. AU, 3 & 10 (Winona Kirk/Sarek)**

They’re both the definition of ‘walking wounded’. Oh, it’s not obvious (they’re both in perfect physical health), but Winona still carries the wound of George’s absence in her soul, a wound that is only scabbed and sore, never healed. Sarek, she suspects, carries much the same injury inside of him, where his wife used to reside.

Perhaps it is those similar wounds that drew them to one another, or the unlikely friendship of their sons. Perhaps it is the hope of somehow finding healing that keeps them together.

Whatever it is, when Sarek raises two of his fingers in her direction (a motion that is almost as famous as the Vulcan hand salute), Winona returns the gesture, and for the first time since that horrible explosion cut off George’s words of love, she feels some sense of peace.

* * *

**3\. Dark, 6 & 8 (Leonard McCoy & Spock)**

God, Leonard thinks, has the worst fucking sense of humor _ever_. He knew when he signed up for Starfleet that there was a good chance that he’d die a cold, horrible, disease-ridden death. He just didn’t think he’d die alongside the green-blooded hobgoblin. 

“This sucks,” he mutters, slumping down against the thick stone walls (because what kind of walls would there be in a fucking _dungeon_ in a fucking _castle_?).

Spock doesn’t say anything, but Leonard can guess that he’s raising that damn eyebrow in his direction, but he doesn’t give a fuck because they’re going to fucking _die_ -

The sounds of phaser fire catch his attention and Leonard looks up just in time to see Jim, Uhura, and Giotto stumble into view outside of their cell. All three are covered in blood, and their eyes are all bright with bloodlust.

Okay, so maybe they’re not going to die, but looking at them, Leonard doesn’t feel much better at the moment. And it may be his imagination, but he doesn’t think Spock does either, from the way he’s staring at Uhura.

* * *

**4\. Threesome, 2, 5, 7 (James T. Kirk/T’Pring/Gaila)**

“This is illogical.” T’Pring also wonders at the logic of repeating such a statement when it obviously has no effect.

Gaila and James just continue to beam at her from the bed, the former even holding out a green-skinned hand in invitation. 

_Illogical._ It is the only word for this arrangement. T’Pring has a duty to her race, to assist in the repopulation of their people even as she lends her efforts in the rebuilding of their society. To involve herself with not one, but even _two_ outworlders, will not aid in either of those goals.

And yet… Ambassador Sarek has taken a new wife, a human woman who is also preparing to bear their first child, another Human-Vulcan hybrid. There has been much discussion on the matter, a debate of whether or not it is in their people’s best interest to invite non-Vulcan blood into their depleted ranks. The Ambassador seems not to care for the debate, however, and has prepared his home thoroughly for the arrival of his third child.

T’Pring continues to gaze at Gaila and James, and suddenly finds herself understanding the _temptation_ of her current situation.

Perhaps they are not the only illogical ones after all.

* * *

**5\. Hurt/Comfort, 1 & 9 (Amanda Grayson & Uhura)**

Amanda is numb. Her hands, her arms, her whole body is numb. The only sensation she can feel right now is the unrelenting agony of her mind, where her bond with Sarek has (had) resided for the past twenty-eight years. Only now it doesn’t, and there’s just the sensation of pain, an echo of Sarek’s final call before he was just _gone_.

She has been aware of the passage of time, of the insanity that has engulfed the ship that now houses her and the Vulcan High Council. She’s registered her son’s presence, hovering about her when he isn’t struggling to keep his crew from fracturing, when he isn’t _trying to kill one of his crewmates_. She rousts herself to call on him to stop, because there’s been enough death today without them courting even more of it, whatever cruel words the young man has uttered. She’s recognized that Spock needs her, and she’s put herself out there for him, reassuring him yet again that his father ( _Sarek!_ ) loved him, loved them both, even if he never explicitly stated the sentiment. Amanda has felt the touch of Sarek’s mind for nearly thirty years - she knows what it is to be loved by a Vulcan, and has never doubted that, or his love for the son they created together.

Now, she knows it’s over. The _Enterprise_ has won its battle, has avenged the fallen, has ended the genocidal madman that has visited so much pain and suffering upon them all. The Vulcan High Council has secluded themselves in an observation deck to deal with their grief together. Spock has buried himself in his work, aiding his comrades in getting the ship to limp back to Earth.

Amanda does not know what to do now. She sits in another observation deck, staring out at the stars, at Jupiter as they slowly pass it by. Occasionally, she hears someone walk by the door, but no one has entered to speak with her.

Until someone does stop. The footsteps are lighter than Spock’s, uncertain. She turns to face her visitor.

Dark, tired eyes stare at her from an exhausted face, expressing concern without having to say a word. _This is Uhura,_ Amanda realizes. Her son has spoken on this girl’s brilliance in xenolinguistics, praised her aptitude and her drive to learn. This is his protégé, and more, if Amanda is any judge of her son’s behavior.

“Lady Amanda?” She speaks softly, almost melodically. She does not ask if Amanda is all right, for which Amanda is grateful. She isn’t ‘all right’. She doesn’t think she ever will be.

Wordlessly, Amanda turns back to the view. Jupiter has almost disappeared. Soon they will pass through the asteroid belt, then past Mars, and finally come to Earth. Then there will be much to do. Until then, Amanda must bear the pain in her, must endure until -

A tentative hand comes to rest on her shoulder, the first touch Amanda has received since before Vulcan crumbled, taking Sarek and _so many, too many_ with it, and she cannot repress a shudder. It’s then that her hands, her arms, her whole body begins to tremble.

Her knees give out, and it’s slim but strong arms that catch her, holding her close as the sobs burst forth.

* * *

**6\. Genderswap, 2 & 4 (James T. Kirk/Christopher Pike)**

Christopher has survived a lot of shit throughout his career - deadly anomalies, malfunctioning shuttles and starships, psychotic aliens, genocidal Romulans (and yes, that son of a bitch gets a category all of his own). He’s no slouch in the ‘toughing it out’ area.

Still, even he admits that there are still some things that are enough to stop him in his tracks. An unobstructed view of the _Enterprise_ , for example. She’s still probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. (Also, there was that one time that Spock busted out laughing, but that was in the midst of a huge crisis on the _Yorktown_ and it wasn’t exactly funny, but more like terrifying and Christopher isn’t thinking about that.)

The second most beautiful thing he’s ever seen is another thing that can make him stop dead too - Jenna Kirk stretched out in his bed, covered by a single sheet that does nothing to disguise the subtle curves of her body. 

He’d probably stand there and gape like a fish if she didn’t speak up. Her eyes fairly glow in the dim light and she smirks up at him. “Are you just going to stand there?” she asks him. “Shore leave’s only three days, you know. Not much time.”

Christopher blinks, and becomes aware of the smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth. “Oh?” he replies. “I think it’ll be enough.” Then he steps toward the bed and its lone occupant.

* * *

**7\. Angst, 6 & 9 (Leonard McCoy & Nyota Uhura)**

The bridge is quiet, but it’s a grim silence. Everyone has their heads down, bent over their consoles and working feverishly at whatever task they have before them.

Everyone is ignoring the empty chair in the center of the bridge. Everyone is ignoring that it’s Gaila at the science station. Everyone is ignoring Doctor McCoy’s grumblings as he paces behind the captain’s chair.

Everyone but Nyota. She’s aware of it every bit as much as she is aware of the silence on the comm channels. 

Twelve hours. Twelve hours since they lost contact with the away team, which had consisted of the Captain, Spock, Giotto, Rollins, and Stran. Not a word, and the storms that have engulfed the surface have made it impossible for the sensors to locate them.

Nyota knows she, they, should be used to this by now. Starfleet is a dangerous profession, and they’ve encountered these types of dangers before. But it doesn’t stop her from gripping her ear peace so hard that it cracks any more than it stops McCoy from pacing and glaring at anyone who might not be working fast enough.

It’s not something they’ll ever get used to, she supposes grimly.

* * *

**8\. Color, 5 & 10 (T’Pring & Sarek)**

Their new world is called Shakara. It is… different. Not like Vulcan.

It is primarily a desert, which is acceptable. Vulcans are a desert race. It is where they formed, in the long ago times before they began to record their histories. Vulcan’s deserts were the color of deep rust. Shakara’s deserts are gold, very similar to some deserts found on Earth.

Sarek has made his new home on the outermost edges of their central settlement. It is different from the home he shared with she who was his wife. That house was a home because Amanda made it so, in the traditions of her people and in the spirit of her presence. This new dwelling has never known Amanda. It has known only him, he who is son and yet is not, and she who is to be his son’s wife.

T’Pring is a botanist, highly skilled in her field. It was she who was able to save some specimens of Vulcan’s flora, and has worked tirelessly to incorporate the flora into Shakara without damaging either the flora or the planet’s ecosystems. It is she who has created a garden in Sarek’s new home, full of what was once known commonly on Vulcan, but is now infinitely more precious.

She also honors his wife by incorporating the red and white roses Amanda loved so much. T’Pring has always respected Amanda, even when members of his own clan and the High Council would not. 

She has brought color to their new home, color of Vulcan to the color of Shakara. Sarek is honored to call her daughter.

* * *

**9\. Babyfic, 3 & 7 (Winona Kirk & Gaila)**

Winona Kirk stares down at the little infant in her arms.

Lyria Kirk, the infant in question, stares back with the intense blue eyes that have always characterized her father. They seem to fit well with the green tinge of her soft, newborn skin. She is quiet.

Until she is not.

Gaila sits on the couch beside her, watching with a faint smile. “She favors Jim,” she says, reaching out to take Lyria from Winona. The Orion woman shows no self-consciousness as she unbuttons her shirt and allows her daughter to have access to her breast, which the baby accepts with alacrity. Gaila laughs, “Greedy.”

Winona already has experience as a grandmother from the three handsome boys George Junior and Aurelan have presented her with, but she stares at Lyria and finds herself at a loss. What does she know about little girls? She has raised two sons, has doted on three grandsons. Little girls are a mystery.

And yet, when Gaila softly begins to sing in her native tongue, a wave of peace washes over her. Perhaps she doesn’t need to know anything just yet. Winona can easily learn.

Lyria’s eyes drift closed.

* * *

**10\. Adventure, 7 & 8 (Gaila & Spock)**

The jungle is sweltering, but they don’t dare take the time to be displeased by it. Not when at least a dozen natives are not far behind them, armed extensively with arrows, spears, and other such primitive weapons.

Gaila keeps pace with Spock, one eye on the terrain in front of her and the other on her tricorder. If they can get out of the jungle, then the _Enterprise_ should be able to locate their signal and beam them aboard. They just have to get there before the natives catch up with them.

“Lieutenant,” Spock says, his hand on her elbow tugging her toward a clump of dense foliage. 

She nods, immediately understanding his intention. The natives are catching up to them. If they can hide, they might throw them off in a different direction. They crouch down amid the flora - Gaila hopes fervently that none of it is this planet’s equivalent of Earth’s poison ivy - and wait. They don’t have to for long.

The natives stop just in front of their hiding place and Gaila can literally _smell_ them - clearly personal hygiene is not a priority for them. They snarl and growl at one another in their native tongue, which the Universal Translator was having problems with to start with, and Gaila holds her breath, praying they don’t start poking the plants around them to flush them out.

The gods are with them, fortunately, and within a few more moments, they move off.

Once she’s certain they’re out of hearing range, she glances at Spock. “Never a dull moment, yes?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Indeed.”


End file.
